Precious Bodily Fluids
by variation-seven
Summary: AU Jack is a vampire. Non-con blood drinking in the first chapter. Yeah I don't know either.
1. Chapter 1

As soon as he saw Jack in the boardroom, he knew something was wrong. He didn't know why he had to come into the office at 2 in the morning for a promotion, but since it meant he was now Chief Marketing Officer of CHAANK, he had agreed without protest. Hell, he'd been so happy with the news he was almost tolerable for the rest of the day. Of course Nicholson had dropped some hints about "initiation ceremonies" but Scott, being Scott, promptly disregarded them. Except, there was Jack. Granted, the rest of the executive board was there too, sitting around the table making small talk, but Jack sat at the far end, wreathed in shadows. And he never came to meetings.

Nicholson stood up as Scott entered and gave him a bracing clap on the shoulder. "Glad you could make it, Scott. I know it's early but this is a little-" he paused, trying to find the right words. Jack seemed amused. "-tradition. Don't worry, you won't have to get up at O-dark-hundred every week, afterwords you'll just donate in one of the labs but Jack _insists _that the first donation be in the flesh."

"What?" Scott asked, intelligently.

Nicholson's response was blunt. "Jack is a vampire." When Scott failed to respond in any way beyond staring at their chief weapons designer, Nicholson deigned to elaborate. "He's going to drink your blood."

After a series of inarticulate noises, Scott managed to sputter out "The fuck? No! No, you can't." He looked around the room, desperately looking for signs that this was some fucked up prank of Jack's, but the board seemed, if anything, mildly irritated. Finding himself in the entirely alien position of being the reasonable one, he grasped for arguments. "Look, I'm not dumb, alright? Vampires don't exist."

At that, Jack smiled, laughed, a noise that echoed across the room. And holy shit, he had fangs. When did he get fangs? Where did he get fangs? Scott almost wanted a closer look, could they be fakes? But since that would involve getting close to Jack as well, he instead backed up against the door. "Oh come on Scott, it's just a prick" Jack said, laughing at his own joke into the uncomfortable silence.

Scott and Jack hadn't really interacted much. He could have counted the number of times he'd seen the weapons designer on one hand, before now. Even then they were hardly meetings, merely chance encounters when he'd gone to Nicholson's office. Jack had been little more than a dark haired blur in a trenchcoat, weird but not his problem. Until now suddenly, he was. When did that fucking happen? He thought back, tried to remember how many of those meetings occurred during the day.

While Scott was wondering when his life went to shit, said problem stood up and sauntered across the room, stopping far too close for comfort. He could almost feel Jack's breath on his neck, except of course there wasn't any. His long hair fell onto Scott's shoulder, making him tense up. "Really, it's okay Scott. They've all had to do this," Jack whispered. They were so close Scott could see him run his tongue over his pointed (and all too real) teeth, noticed that he was the same temperature as the frigid boardroom around him. Scott could feel his pulse race, and judging by the hungry way he was leaning in, so could Jack. "There's cookies afterwords, it's nice." Jack gripped Scott's arm, the cold metal claws on his fingers digging into Scott's flesh through the business suit. Scott knew he should say something, fight him off, but he felt frozen in place, helpless. Some damn vampire thing, or just Jack? Maybe it was the way Jack was looking at him. It wasn't just hunger in those blue eyes (though it was that too) but desperation? What would he do if he were denied blood? Those teeth looked razor sharp close up. He could feel the eyes of the entire executive board watching him, awaiting his next move.

Scott breathed in sharply as Jack's other hand had moved to his neck, exposing his flesh from beneath his shirt collar. "It's alright." He moved quickly, not giving Scott any chance to react, and buried his teeth in Scott's jugular vein.

"Fuck!" It _hurt_, that was the first thing. The second was a blooming sort of warmth from the spot, in other circumstances it might have been nice. Could he actually feel the blood drain or was he hallucinating? He felt his knees go weak and, to his own embarrassment, had to cling to Jack for support. Now that Jack's head was out of his way, he could look over and see Nicholson and the rest of them. They didn't tell him, they didn't _warn_ him, and he was just supposed to accept it? Nicholson wouldn't meet his gaze, though that Frost bitch had a look of satisfaction. And there were, in fact, cookies. Scott shuddered as he felt Jack's tongue run over the puncture marks in his neck, he kissed it almost affectionately, and then withdrew.

Once, Nicholson had invited Scott to go deep sea fishing. The deck had rolled and dipped on the ocean waves, 'til he was afraid they'd sink. Now the room was moving like the deck of that boat, and he felt like he was about to capsize. Blearily he recognized Nicholson's voice as he rushed to his side. "For God's sake Jack, how much blood did you take?"

"I don't know, I was hungry" Jack snapped, licking the blood from around his mouth. 'My blood,' Scott realized, 'what the hell.'

Abandoning the fruitless task of reasoning with Jack, Nicholson grasped Scott's arm and sat him down in a chair in front of some cookies and juice. "Eat this, you'll need to get your blood sugar up again after that." Mechanically, Scott took a cookie and started chewing. The boards' congratulations washed over him, he made vague replies. He was Chief Marketing Officer of the CHAANK Corporation. And vampires existed. The fuck?

* * *

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED. It was just supposed to be a fun crackfic and then it turned into this. I think I have problems.

Please leave concrit!


	2. Chapter 2

It was the smell that hit him first, shit and blood mixed with the strange tang of machine oil. Then the visuals, gore festooned Nicholson's office, and Nicholson's knee lay by Scott's foot. What was left of the head was severed from the shredded remains of his torso, calling the paramedics would be useless. His boss's blood covered the room, and had by this time dried into a rust brown color nearly the same color as his desk. It contrasted nicely with the azure of the carpet and the gray rubble of the demolished wall. _Something_ had torn through here and ripped Nicholson apart. And who the fuck was responsible? 'Three guesses, and the first two don't count,' Scott thought.

His stomach was in rebellion, he felt himself shake, but his voice was as flat and level as any other day. Scott turned to the more visibly shaken aide who'd called him in." Get the cleaners in here, the ones we use for the med labs." Yeah, keep this shit in-house, if whoever the hell they were knew about the Hardman Project then they knew enough to keep their mouths shut about this. As she nodded and went to make the call, his brain went into overdrive, wrangling with how the fuck he could spin this to the media. Industrial accident? None of the really heavy machinery they had was kept on site. Assassination? They'd need an assassin for that. Not that he was above finding someone suitably disposable but the police would almost certainly investigate. Maybe John would know?

The aide cleared her throat again. "Excuse me sir, but what about Dante?" Ever since his promotion, Scott had learned that in addition to his other responsibilities as CEO, Nicholson had been in charge of what Scott had derisively referred to as "vampire bullshit." Now that Nicholson was dead, according to the command chain, that fell to... him. Great.

It would be wrong to say they'd parted acrimoniously after that, since both were integral to the smooth running of CHAANK, parting was impossible. Despite whatever personal betrayals had passed between them, they had to keep working with each other. Eventually the boiling hatred had lowered to a simmering resentment. And now Nicholson was just gone.

Diffidently, the aide said, "I guess, sir, if you knew he was going to die you'd have thought of something nicer to say to him." Scott snarled at her and turned on his heel, the aide shrank back.

"Yeah well, Forrest Gump can go fuck himself. I'll be in Engineering."

* * *

Scott took the stairs two at a time, the better to burn off his frustration. Another day he might have been, well, _reluctant_ was an understatement, to go down there. But his boss was dead and this shit was now his problem. Keeping the secret of Jack's condition, from the looks of things, wasn't complicated. He rarely left his lab anyway, easily explaining his pale skin and odd hours. People weren't inclined to socialize with Jack, since he was batshit and dangerous even without any supernatural abilities. A gun could kill just as well as a pair of fangs, if not better. And if they wondered what he ate or where he got his food, well, they kept it to themselves. He'd asked Nicholson after his promotion, during a lull in the argument, if there were more supernatural creatures out there. "What, we got a werewolf in HR I gotta worry about too?" he'd asked, voice dripping sarcasm. Nicholson had only answered with a scowl. And now whatever he knew was now beyond Scott's reach. 'Unless ghosts exist too,' thought the unhelpful part of his brain.

All too soon Scott reached Engineering. Scott couldn't help but notice that everyone who worked there was wearing heavy duty clothing that covered them head to toe. Too thick for fangs to go through? What had they learned, down here in the dark? Maybe the secret wasn't as well kept as he'd thought. Sparks flew up occasionally here and there, giving the impression of walking through a storm cloud. His footsteps echoed like thunder as he passed through the graffiti covered door and entered Dante's lab.

It wasn't what he'd expected a vampire's lair to look like. He'd expected more coffins, more torches, like something out of the Haunted Mansion at Disney Land. He hadn't expected it to be filled with action figures and old computer parts and monitors lining the walls. Some showed cartoons or porn on loop but many were just broadcasting static. The walls without monitors were covered in more graffiti, as well as pinups and cutouts from gun magazines. Nothing that screamed "vampire" anyway, though the room was freezing. But that was hardly an indictment. Computers were on every shelf, humming quietly.

Jack, miracle of miracles, was actually working. His head was bent over a workbench with various technical paraphernalia Scott couldn't name spread across it. Scott's entrance hadn't been quiet, and Jack stood up and turned to face Scott. He flinched, expecting Nicholson's blood to still be on the pale man's lips, but if Jack had taken a drink he'd cleaned up afterwords.

"Hiya, Scott! What're you doing here?"

"What happened to Nicholson?"

"He's dead." Jack chuckled. "Was testing my new thing," he put a particular emphasis on 'thing', "and it got a little out of hand." He pointed a metal-clawed finger at Scott, "Minor setback, don't worry about it."

Two objections battled for prominence in Scott's mind, the fact that killing a CEO was not a _minor _anything and that whatever it was that killed him was nowhere to be seen, which was not especially comforting. But while Scott was deciding which to voice first, the question was taken out of his hands, as Jack started forcing him bodily out the door.

"I'm building the meanest motherfuckin' front line morale destroyer ever, you're gonna love it. But I need some more time to, you know, work the kinks out." Scott found himself outside the lab. "Until then, it's a surprise." The gleeful tone in his voice was difficult to forget. Still, he was now acting-CEO, and there was no more time to get a straight answer out of Jack. He headed upstairs.

* * *

Frost was amazed at her own disappointment with Ridley. After all, to be disappointed with someone, you had to have had expectations for them in the first place. Nevertheless, after that debacle of a board meeting it was clear that something had to be done about Jack, and that Scott Ridley would not be the one to do it. They needed a professional. They needed a hunter.

_So hey, this fic has a second chapter! It's a surprise to us all. Maybe soon Scott can catch a break?_

_Next chapter: Hayden Cale, Vampire Hunter._


	3. Chapter 3

Hayden surveyed the gore through a monitor, darkly. The pictures were low quality, taken with a cell phone on the sly, but she was used to that. Phages thrived on secrecy and attempts to bring them into the light often met with violent disagreement. That wasn't what was suspicious. She lit a cigarette and rechecked the attached message.

_Ths is bob nicholson he was killd by a vampir dont ask how I kno we need ur help plz _

It had been sent from a disposable prepaid cell phone, which had then been disposed of. There was no contact information, the phone had been paid for in cash, and the cashier couldn't remember anything about the buyer. The call had been sent from the CHAANK Corporation HQ, but said building was over 60 stories tall and occupied on almost every floor, meaning that almost anyone could have sent it. Coupled with the fact that it had been sent to her _work_ phone, Hayden could only come up with two possibilities: either some very, very careful person needed her help, or it was a trap. She sighed, took a drag off her cigarette, and brought up Nicholson's obituary.

He'd been a CEO, and there would therefore be a high level of security around him. So his killer was either someone he trusted, or strong enough to tear through whatever bodyguards and precautions a multinational arms dealer would possess. Or both, she supposed. Cale hadn't yet heard of a phage strong enough to rip a man in half like that, but that didn't mean one didn't exist. Unfortunately.

Compared to many hunters, she was supposed she was fortunate. She had a high paying job that gave her plausible reasons to travel to different locales, she hadn't lost any limbs, and she was almost perfectly positioned to infiltrate the highest echelons of the CHAANK Corporation without raising too many eyebrows. You couldn't put 'vampire hunter' on your resume, not more than once. Well, trap or no, she'd deal with it. She stubbed out her cigarette and called GSE. She had a job to do.

* * *

John Carpenter's office was filled with paperwork, photographs, and yelling.

"Shark attack, that's the best shit you could come up with?" Scott would have thrown a pen at John, but he'd run out of projectiles a long time ago. John winced a little, some economically minded man in the distant past had decided to save money by making the walls out of the thinnest and most sound conducting material available, so the entire floor was now privy to their little argument. Bringing this up would elicit Scott's typical reaction to unpalatable facts, ie he would get louder. John decided to try placation.

"We had to tell the press something, and I didn't see you coming up with any good ideas."

"Fuck you!" He slammed his hands on the desk. "I am in charge of public relations here, and I did not ask you to do my fucking job for me!"

"Keeping quiet would just breed speculation and more bad PR. Now, what have you heard about our new CEO?"

He took a deep breath and seemed to actually consider the question, "Hell, I don't know. She's supposed to be a 'reformer',-" John could practically see the air quotes, "-she's gonna cause problems for us. We'll have to do something about her."

Alright, clearly John would have to spell it out for the kid, "Well, yes but that isn't the problem."

"Get to the fucking point."

"Scott, these reformer types never actually do anything. We act contrite for a while, and wait for it to blow over. Nothing's going to happen on _that_ front. We need to worry about Dante."

"Dante? What about the Hardman-"

"Hardman Project's a dead end anyway. Worst case scenario it gets shut down, no loss for us. But think about Dante's 'special needs.'" He gestured irritably with his cigar.

The conversation died for a while, as both participants pondered the inevitable train wreck that their meeting would produce. After a while Scott broke the silence.

"When does she show up?"

"Next week Monday."

"Fuck."

Another lengthy pause ensued, finally ended by John.

"Want to get a drink?"

"You buying?"

John snorted. "Sure, kid."

"All right."

* * *

It was the nicest truck he'd ever hung out in. Hard work by all three of them had made it that way, and now Weyland had a place where he could plot the downfall of capitalism and play his guitar in peace.

Had anyone asked, Weyland would have said that he was getting a little tired of being the voice of reason. Yutani had never had much in the way of restraint, but Weyland knew that Raimi, at least, was capable of stopping to think for 5 seconds. But since Yutani was out getting weed, this was the best opportunity to talk to Raimi he was going to get. He put his guitar down carefully and began.

"Do you really think we can trust Morse?"

Raimi just seemed confused, "Hasn't been wrong yet. Why?"

Sometimes Weyland thought he was being dense on purpose. "Do you really believe in vampires?"

"All his other info was good."

"He's crazy."

"Look, this is America, the right to believe in vampires is in the Constitution." Raimi checked the door for Yutani's return, then continued, "Maybe he's a kook. I dunno. But he's our best chance of taking out CHAANK. We can't back out now."

"He's unstable. He's a conspiracy theorist, he probably believes in lizardmen too. How do we know his source isn't just the voices in his head?"

Before Raimi could answer, they heard the familiar knock on the back doors, Yutani had returned.


End file.
